


Gone to the Dogs

by vienna_waits



Category: due South
Genre: Comedy, Dief POV, Dog Shows, Gen, Long, casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-17
Updated: 2010-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienna_waits/pseuds/vienna_waits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser and Kowalski go undercover at a dog show to suss out saboteurs. Dief goes undercover as a dog, with hilarious results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone to the Dogs

Ray Kowalski shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and scrunched his head down into his neck as he shivered. A cold drizzle had been falling for hours, and the water squished between his toes as he hopped restlessly back and forth.

Thanks to his gift for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time and Welsh's bad mood this morning, he was part of a cordon of police officers standing between seventy-five protesters in the alley and the Exhibitors Entrance to the Convention Center, where the big Midwest Crown Classic dog show was starting today. The protesters were some kind of animal-rights freaks, holding signs with messages like "Dog Shows = Cruelty," "Animals Have Rights Too," and "The Stupid Ones Are Holding the Leashes." They even had some guy in a dog suit leading chants of "Dogs aren't yours, dogs aren't mine, set dogs free to live their lives!" Ray envied the guy; he looked nice and warm under his furry getup.

Every time some poor person brought out a dog to do its business on a lawn behind the building, the protesters booed and hissed and shouted "Shame! Shame! Shame!", but Ray thought these dogs were the most pampered creatures he'd ever seen. They managed to make Dief look abused and neglected by comparison. The owners held umbrellas over their dogs, cooed to them soothingly to ignore the bad mean people yelling at them, and fed them pieces of chicken and liver just for taking a dump. He'd trade places with any of them in a second.

"Coffee, Ray?" Fraser, standing just to his right, looked like something out of a detergent commercial--all bright and clean and April fresh, his dark blue coat immaculate as always. The only sign he'd been standing out in the rain for hours was the occasional drip from the brim of his hat, and now he was channeling a Maxwell House commercial to boot.

"Thanks." Ray gratefully took the metal camp mug from Fraser's gloved hands, enjoying the chance to warm his fingers on it. "What, you stash a coffeemaker in your little pouch thingy?" He took a noisy slurp, not caring that he burned his tongue in the process, and studiously ignored the envious glances from the uniform to his left. God, that was good.

Fraser shook his head, sending a few more droplets flying. "I thought a thermos might come in handy."

Diefenbaker, standing just behind Fraser, made what could only be described as a rude noise and shook, spattering the back of Fraser's legs with cold Chicago rainwater.

"No one made you come here," Fraser said pointedly, to which Dief gave a plaintive whine. "And no, for the last time, you cannot go inside and 'have a quick look around.'"

A college-age protester in the front row, her glasses streaked with moisture, stabbed a finger at Fraser. "Animal abuser! How dare you make that animal suffer in the cold rain! Don't you have one shred of conscience and decency?"

"Hey, hey, hey," Ray said, holding his free hand up in protest, "he's got more conscience and decency in his little finger than you've got in your whole body. And this dog is here of his own free will, isn't that right, Dief?"

Dief woofed in an affirmative-sounding way, and the woman looked surprised and subsided.

"Actually," Fraser said cheerily to the woman, not offended in the least, "I tried to talk him out of it, but he had these grandiose notions of meeting comely females. Never mind that they're simply out of his league--"

Fraser was interrupted by a blaring alarm from the building. Within seconds, people and dogs were streaming out of the building in a near-panic--on leash, off leash, being carried in crates or in people's arms, barking, whining, scuttling with flattened ears and tails between their legs. Dog after dog after dog. It was sort of mesmerizing, like watching hordes of clowns pour out of one of those clown cars at the circus.

The protesters yelled louder than ever and began to surge forward, bringing Ray back to the moment, and he could tell things were about to get ugly. Ray and Fraser and the cordon moved back a few steps, but held the line. Diefenbaker, sensing the tension, growled low in his throat, moved between Fraser and Ray, and planted his feet. A few of the protesters closest to him shrank back.

"Got any ideas, Inuit stories, anything?" Ray asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not, Ray."

That was his last clear memory before the protesters broke over them in a giant sodden wave.

***

As Lynn Messner sat red-eyed and distraught across the table in Interrogation One from him and Ray, Fraser allowed his eyes to roam over the picture she'd handed him: an immaculately groomed gray-and-white Siberian Husky with one blue eye and one brown eye, mouth open and tongue lolling, and next to her, a tall, lanky woman with long brown hair with hints of gray in a ponytail, smiling proudly and holding a large multi-colored ribbon.

"She's a beautiful animal," Fraser said approvingly, passing the picture back into Lynn's trembling hands.

"A rescue," she choked out. "I got Althea when she was a year old. That was our agility championship title in, uh, Windsor, no, Bloomington, in August. And now those, those...." She flicked an angry hand toward the squadroom. "...idiots stole her from me!" She began crying again, and Dief, sitting beside her, gave a gentle whine and nosed her thigh. Lynn buried her hands in Dief's fur, and Dief put his front paws on her lap and proceeded to lick her face.

"There's no evidence of that," Fraser responded. "Mr. Granger--"

"The guy you smacked around with the head from his dog costume," Ray added, off Lynn's confused look.

"--said that members of his group pulled the fire alarm, switched off the power to the building, and simply opened the doors to animals' cages. No animals were physically removed from the premises."

"He's lying," Lynn shot back.

"Possibly, but since his group is against all animal ownership, it seems unlikely, since that would directly violate his stated principles."

"Look," said Lynn, leaning around Diefenbaker's head, "I just want my dog back. How hard is that to understand? I don't care about him or any of his 'stated principles'. Every minute we sit here, my poor Thea could be getting run over in traffic or locked up in a shelter or schlepped back to God-knows-where by some well-meaning people on vacation! Just tell me what I have to do to get out of here. Write Stupid Dog Costume Guy a letter of apology? Sure! Plead guilty to assault? Yes, fine, whatever! Just let me out--" and her voice broke. "Just let me out so I can find her." Her eyes darted to Fraser, the door, then Ray.

"All right," said Ray, "take this to the desk sergeant," he handed her a file folder, "and you can pay your fine and go."

"Ray, wait," Fraser said. "Maybe Ms. Messner would appreciate some assistance in locating Althea."

Lynn gave him a look of hesitant surprise, while Ray was glaring at him as though he'd suggested a nice dip in a vat of boiling oil.

"Not unless you've suddenly turned into a psychic, Fraser. Do you have any idea how many more people we have to process? We're talking thirty, forty, fifty people out there--" Suddenly he straightened and his expression changed. "On second thought, uh, sure, why don't we help you try and find your dog. Least we can do, really." Ray grabbed his coat off the back of the chair, and Fraser directed the tiniest of nods at Lynn.

Diefenbaker woofed his vigorous agreement with this idea and noted that Althea was a very comely female indeed.

***

Everyone at the Convention Center seemed jumpy and on edge--Fraser and Ray were challenged no fewer than five times as they made their way through the large hall devoted to the dog show. Lynn showed her exhibitor's and vendor's wristbands and was given a flyer detailing the revised show schedule. Dief was forced to walk on a leash, and his plodding gait and drooping tail showed his hurt feelings at this injustice.

"These are the breed rings," Lynn said, indicating a number of smaller areas closest to the main entrance marked off with white plastic gating.

"They breed dogs right out in front of everybody?" Ray said.

"I believe she means breed conformation, Ray," Fraser corrected him.

"Right," Lynn said. "Conformation is like a beauty pageant for dogs. All the dogs of each breed--Labs, Goldens, whatever--trot around the ring, and the one that comes closest to the breed standard wins."

She called out several times to people she knew as they walked, asking if their dogs were all right and if they had seen Althea. No one had. She handed each of them a flyer with Althea's picture they'd quickly whipped up and copied at the station.

"The obedience rings," she continued her tour, "are here in the middle, more or less, and the agility rings," she waved a hand at the large, spacious matted areas dotted with colorful obstacles, "are in the back. They say it's less distracting for the dogs that way. The grandstand on the left wall is for spectators, vendors are to the left of the rings, and exhibitors crate on the right side of the rings."

"It's so quiet in here," said Ray. "I always expected a dog show would be full of dogs, y'know, barking."

"The people with really reactive dogs crate in their cars," Lynn said. "It's a lot easier on everybody."

She turned left to head for the vendors' area and gave a weighty sigh. "Maybe if I'd crated with the exhibitors, we'd never have been separated in the first place. I was in the exhibitors' bathroom when the power went out." She worked her way through a hodgepodge of tents, booths, and counters offering everything from hand-tooled leather dog leashes to organic grain-free dog treats until she came to several white portable shade tents placed side by side. A banner marked "Go Hup! Agility Equipment" hung across the front.

"Well, here it is," she said sardonically, "the scene of the crime." A dozen completed jumps of different shapes and sizes stood off to one side waiting for their new owners, while a small table saw and an entire hardware store's worth of PVC pipe, elbows, tees and caps in transparent containers filled the back. A heavy wire crate with a thick, plush blue dog bed inside it sat under a long table at the front of the booth where Lynn dealt with her customers. Dief strained against the leash and whined, and when Fraser released him, he ran straight to the crate and sniffed it intently both inside and out, his nose moving back and forth like a dowsing rod.

"Is anything missing? Other than Althea, of course," Fraser added hastily.

"Oh, God." Lynn's face paled; she anxiously hurried over to the jumps, muttering curses under her breath. She grabbed each of them in turn, murmuring a count as she went, and scanned the material bins. "No," she said shakily, "it looks like everything is here. Thank God no one decided to walk off with a jump while I was gone." She walked around the front of the table and watched Dief, who seemed determined to inhale every molecule of Althea's scent that he possibly could. "Dief is certainly thorough," she allowed, smiling at his ardor, "but Sibes aren't generally much for tracking. How will we know if he--"

Dief gave an urgent little yip and bolted for the main doors, nose to the ground, leash dragging on the floor behind him, and the startled humans charged after him.

"LOOSE DOG!" Lynn yelled, "LOOSE DOG! The Sibe!" Handlers turned to look, tried to grab his leash or get in front of him, but Dief nimbly jumped to the side or ducked through people's legs, and then he darted out one of the main doors that closed just a little too slowly and turned right.

The three of them spilled onto the sidewalk only seconds behind him, heads swiveling, their breath coming out in misty puffs in the chilly air. Dief was nowhere to be seen.

"Dief!" Lynn called. "Dief! Come!" She turned to Fraser. "Call him! Why aren't you calling him?"

"I'm afraid it wouldn't do any good."

"What? You have a working police dog with no recall?" Lynn was clearly horrified.

"He's deaf," Ray said, and Lynn deflated.

"Oh," she said, "oh, I had no idea. But if he's deaf, why do you even bother--"

"He reads lips," Ray said smugly, and man, was he enjoying this. "Oh, and he's also part wolf." Lynn gave him a searching look; he could almost see the gears grinding in her head. She stood there for a long moment, arms crossed.

"Well," she said finally, "what do we do then?"

Fraser was already kneeling to examine the sidewalk. "We track him. The leash he's dragging along behind him has left a slight track in the moisture here. He headed off this way."

Lynn and Ray followed, Lynn looking more and more puzzled as Fraser stared intently at patches of sidewalk, sniffed lampposts, and addressed unshaven men lounging in doorways by name. After a few more blocks, Fraser led them into a parking garage.

"You know, I don't think I've ever met a cop quite like him before," Lynn finally said, her voice echoing against the concrete.

"Nobody's ever met a cop quite like him before. He's Canadian."

"Oh, really?" Lynn said, and she looked long and hard at Fraser, who was busily sniffing a concrete pillar, like she'd never seen him before, an odd, almost feral expression on her face.

"He's Canadian, not Martian," Ray joked. "But if your dog is out here somewhere, Fraser will find her, you can count on it."

Excited rapid-fire barking echoed through the garage. "Dief," Fraser nodded in satisfaction, already in motion. "I believe he's one level up."

They arrived to see Dief barking, whining, and circling an empty parking spot.

"Good boy, Dief," Fraser praised him, picking up the leash. "It looks like Althea's kidnapper brought her back to a vehicle parked here. Tracking the vehicle will likely prove difficult, but--"

Ray nudged Fraser and pointed to a camera mounted in a corner just a few feet away. "We don't have to. Let's do this the easy way."

The young Indian parking attendant was clearly thrilled at the prospect of aiding a police investigation, eagerly answering Fraser's questions before scooting to one side to allow everyone into the booth. "Oh, yes, I remember, yes, there was definitely a car with a dog like this one in it," he agreed, looking at Dief. "A big, hairy dog, a lot of fur. Very friendly looking. Maybe two, three hours ago? Here, I can show you." He fiddled with the controls on one of his security monitors for a long minute, biting his lip as he worked. "Ah, yes, here we go." Everyone leaned in to look at the small black-and-white video and began talking all at once.

"There she is!" Lynn cried. "That's her!"

"Illinois plate Robert Charles William 139," Fraser noted, "on a 1996 Ford Taurus, if I'm not mistaken."

"Perp looks like a local boy. I think I've seen him somewhere before. We're gonna need to take this tape back with us," Ray said to the attendant.

Dief jumped up, resting his front paws on the window looking to the street, and began barking frantically.

Everyone turned to look, but Dief was already pushing the sliding door on the side of the booth open with his nose. He pulled Fraser headlong out of the booth and toward a car stopped at the light on the corner. Definitely not a 1996 Ford Taurus, at any rate. A lighted Pizza Duo sign protruded from the passenger window.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Fraser began to reprimand him, "this is no time to be led around by your insatiable appetite for--"

"ALTHEA!" Lynn yelled, and a furiously wagging tail and a face with one dark eye and one lighter one appeared in the passenger window.

Ray leapt in front of the driver's side and slammed a hand on the hood, brandishing his badge and his best "don't even THINK about messing with me" look. "Chicago PD! Out of the car! Now!"

***

"I swear to you, I know it sounds weird, but that's what happened," the Pizza Duo driver, a college-age kid named Marc, insisted, wringing his hands anxiously. "You are going to pay for that, right?" He gestured at the half-eaten pizza on the Interrogation One table. They'd certainly spent a lot of time here today, and it was only mid-afternoon.

Ray pulled out his wallet and handed Marc some bills. "Here," Ray said, "and I'll throw in an extra ten for the perp yell."

"I believe him," Lynn said heartily. She cuddled Althea on her lap, a new collar and ID tag adorning her neck. "It sounds like something she would do, and she adores pizza, don't you, baby girl?" She fed Althea another pizza crust and ruffled her fur lovingly.

"So, in a nutshell, Mr. Price," Fraser said, looking at his notes, "you witnessed an accident between a sedan with this dog inside--" He gestured to Althea. "--and a vehicle with Ontario license plates."

"Right," Marc said, reaching for another piece of pizza himself.

"When the driver of the sedan opened the door, the dog jumped out into traffic."

"Uh-huh."

"And to keep her from being hit, you enticed her into your vehicle with a slice of pizza."

"She loved it," he grinned at Althea, who wagged her tail warmly at him. "She seemed okay, not hurt or anything, but the guy just drove off, and with no collar and no tags, I didn't know how to get her where she belonged. She rode shotgun while I delivered pizzas for a while until you guys showed up."

Lynn's cell phone rang, and she unceremoniously shooed Althea off her lap and nearly knocked the pizza off the table in her haste to answer it. "Hello?" she said querulously, leaning into the receiver and sticking a finger in her other ear to hear better.

There was a knock at the door, and Frannie stuck her head in. "Ray, the Lieutenant wants to see--hey, pizza! Don't mind if I do," she said, hurrying over and adroitly plucking a slice of pizza from the rapidly shrinking pie. "Hi, Benton. Ooh, hi, cutie," she said to Althea, giving her a quick pat on the head before she turned and left.

"We had protesters! The building was evacuated!" Lynn hissed into the phone. "...No, 8:30 is fine. Yes, I will be there. " She angrily mashed the 'end call' button.

Ray and Fraser were both looking quizzically at her.

"Oh...that was just...a customer. Eager to pick up the jump I built for him. Those agility people, you know, they can be relentless," she joked.

"Excuse us for a minute," Ray said as he and Fraser stood up.

Lynn stood as well. "Wait. I...I really have to get back to the show, but I can't thank you enough for what you did for Althea. She's like my kid. I don't know what I'd do without her. Thank you, Officer Kowalski, Constable Fraser, and thank you, Dief," she said, prying off a bit of cheese still stuck to the cardboard and dropping it into his open mouth, "for finding my girl."

"Don't you want to sign a complaint, Ms. Messner?" Fraser asked. "We will find the man who took Althea, and he deserves to be held responsible for what he did."

"God, no! I mean, no, thanks, and I'm sure you have much more important things to do, but let's just drop the whole thing. I really have to get back to the show. But if I see that man from the video again, I'll call you right away."

Fraser and Ray exchanged a look, and Ray shrugged. "Very well, Ms. Messner," Fraser said. "Mr. Price, you are free to go. Dief, would you mind coming with us?"

Dief whined and looked at the pizza, then at Althea.

Fraser opened the door and gestured firmly into the hallway. "Dief, come."

Diefenbaker complied, once again lowering his tail and plodding, head down, as though marching to his own execution. He sighed heavily as he moved into the hallway, clearly suffering unspeakable misery.

"The dog has a real gift for drama," Ray observed as they strode down the hall and into the bullpen.

"Yes, I suppose so. Unfortunately, he suffered a debilitating bout of stage fright during his first--and last--performance as The Big Bad Wolf in the Paulatuk Primary School Spring Pageant. He couldn't remember a shred of his blocking--it was a terrible shame."

"Oh, yeah," Ray commiserated, shaking his head, "I can imagine. Those poor primary schoolers." He peeked into Welsh's doorway. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Ah, Detective Vecchio," Welsh greeted them, ensconced behind his desk, "so nice to see you and Constable Fraser. Come in, why don't you, and shut the door behind you." That was never a good sign. Ray could tell that Welsh's mood hadn't improved much since morning. He did as he was told and waited for the tongue-lashing to begin.

"Now, Detective," Welsh began, looking over his glasses, "would you care to venture a guess as to how many arrests were made at the Convention Center this morning?"

"Is this like guessing how many jellybeans are in the big jar in the window? Do I win a prize if I hit it on the head?"

Welsh glared at him, and Ray realized he'd just been a smart-ass for the second time today. Not good. "Sorry, sir. Uh..." Ray rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. "I don't know, forty?"

"Try fifty-seven. We're still trying to finish cleaning that mess up. Now, guess how many of those fifty-seven arrests you processed."

He and Fraser both winced. "Um, three, but I have a really good reason for that, sir."

"Oh, really? Now that is interesting. Could you possibly enlighten me as to what could possibly justify one of my detectives suddenly vacating the station in the middle of our busiest day since we raided that nightclub on the South Side two months ago?"

"Lieutenant," Fraser jumped in with his funky pronunciation, "Detective Vecchio vacated the station at my urging. Based on information provided to us during an interrogation, we successfully recovered a four year-old kidnapping victim and returned her to her legal guardian."

Dief barked.

"With invaluable assistance from Diefenbaker, I might add."

Ray looked over at Fraser in shock. Surprise, surprise. Mr. By-the-Book was basically lying to Welsh to pull his fat out of the fire. Now that was buddies.

It took a minute, but Welsh's anger evaporated. "All right then. I guess I would consider that a good reason. Nice work, gentlemen. Do you have the case file on that?"

Ray and Fraser traded a nervous glance. "She wouldn't sign the complaint," Ray admitted.

"What? A four year-old gets kidnapped, and the parent won't sign a complaint? Why not?"

"Because the kidnapping victim was, um," and Ray dropped his head and mumbled to the floor, "a dog, sir."

Welsh leaned forward. "What?"

The jig was up. Nothing to do but admit the lie and get toasted all over again. "A DOG, sir."

Watching the anger flood back into Welsh's face was a scary thing, but fortunately, it quickly dissolved into general annoyance. "A dog. Wonderful. As it turns out, dogs are the other reason I called you in for this little love-fest. I got a very concerned phone call from a Pauline Emerson, who happens to be the head honcho down there at the dog show, and she is--let's call it displeased--over our failure to contain the protesters today. She thinks the ones who cut the power and pulled the fire alarm were actually on the inside. So she wants at least one of us there too, hanging out with the contestants and making sure there are no more incidents for the rest of the show. And since you seem to have such a deep and abiding interest in dogs--"

"Sir, please, no, anything but that, please--"

"--she wants you there at eight o' clock tonight. Meet her at the vending machines just inside the exhibitors' entrance. You will be there at eight o'clock on the dot, you will meet with her, and you will do anything and everything she says." His tone left no room for argument.

Ray argued anyway. "But sir, I don't have a dog. I know bupkis about dogs, I don't know a dog from a hole in the wall. They'd never buy it."

Welsh opened his mouth to reply, but Fraser beat him to it. "Sir," he said in that ultra-reasonable tone of his, "if I may, I do have a dog--well, he can certainly pass for a dog when necessary--and although I would not consider my knowledge of canids exhaustive, I believe Diefenbaker and I have the skills necessary to comply with Ms. Emerson's request. Furthermore, I suspect that the unfolding events may involve Canadians in some capacity; therefore, pending authorization from Inspector Thatcher, my involvement in this matter seems wholly appropriate."

Ray wanted to know how Canadians were involved in all this, but he wanted Welsh to say yes even more, so he kept his mouth shut and waited.

Welsh stroked his chin for a moment, mulling it over, and then shrugged his head. "All right, Constable. But take Vecchio with you, and keep him out of my sight until this fiasco fades from my memory."

Ray gulped. "Uh, thank you, sir." He hurried out of Welsh's office before the Lieu could change his mind.

***

Even in the dark, Ray thought Fraser's expression looked pained as he strode down the steps of the Consulate and got into the car where Ray and Dief were waiting.

"What's the matter? Ice Queen put her foot down?" Ray did a U-turn off the curb to get them headed back toward the Convention Center.

"Not precisely, but she made it clear that she felt this was an...inappropriate use of Consulate resources. I believe 'undignified' was the word she used. She released me for the duration of this assignment, but she was none too happy about it."

"Inappropriate? Did you tell her about Canadians being involved?"

"Well, yes, but I'm afraid my suspicions are nebulous at best at this point."

"What suspicions? Let's hear 'em."

"Marc Price, the Pizza Duo driver, said that the car with Althea and her kidnapper in it was in a car accident, and that the other car had Ontario license plates."

"Yeah, so?"

"The way Marc described the accident unfolding, it sounded like the Canadian vehicle was not just an innocent bystander. I think someone was deliberately pursuing our dognapper, Ray. That would also explain why he behaved the way he did. He began to check on the Canadian driver, but once he realized who it was, he proceeded to jump back in his vehicle and flee the scene without retrieving Althea."

"Makes sense so far," Ray nodded. "But why would you go to all that trouble to kidnap a dog and then just let it run into traffic? And was the Canadian after the guy or the dog? You'd think Canada is not exactly running low on huskies."

"Excellent questions, Ray. At the moment, I haven't the foggiest idea."

They drove in silence for a few minutes, each of them mentally shuffling and re-shuffling the information they had, trying to make it fit some kind of recognizable pattern.

"You know," Ray spoke up as he pulled into the Convention Center parking garage, "there's one other Canadian thing. When I told Lynn that you were Canadian, she acted kinda weird about it. She looked you up and down like you were a mass murderer or something. Not the usual reaction."

"Lynn Messner is hiding something," Fraser said without hesitation. "She acted very strangely this afternoon. She seems like a nice enough person, but she's keeping a secret. A dark one, I think. She bears watching."

***

Pauline Emerson was a solid, no-nonsense woman in her fifties with short, tidy silver hair. She had a firm handshake and looked Ray square in the eye. "Thank you for coming," she said in a lilting voice that still had a bit of somewhere with green rolling hills in it, England or Ireland, maybe. "You must be Officer Kowalski."

"Yes, ma'am," Ray said, "and this is my partner, Constable Fraser, and his dog, Diefenbaker."

Pauline barely nodded at Fraser, immediately kneeling for a closer look at Diefenbaker. "What an interesting name, Diefenbaker. Let's see what we've got here," she said, producing a pungent liver treat from the pocket of her suit jacket and holding it out. Dief immediately trotted up to her and happily took the treat, and Pauline quickly ran her hands over Dief, her eyes flicking across his face and build. "Good boy," she said, and gave him another treat.

"He'll do nicely," she said, standing up to face Fraser and Ray. "Sibes can be a bit dodgy in the ring anyway, so if things don't go well, we'll just write it off as Sibe silliness." She chuckled and reached down to scratch the front of Dief's neck. "He has a lovely expression. Reminds me of some Sibes I've seen out of Ohio, actually. He's in good condition, about twenty-one and a half at the shoulder, so he'll jump twenty."

"Twenty what?" Ray asked, envisioning Dief lining up like Evel Knievel and launching himself over cars.

"Inches," Pauline said. "For the jumps, you know. Bigger dogs jump higher and little ones jump lower, so it's a fair challenge for dogs of all sizes."

"Oh," said Ray, faintly disappointed.

"Well, there's no sense in standing here chatting all night. Let's get started. He's clearly food motivated, so that will help. Do you have some treats?"

Dief gave Fraser a pointed look, then looked at one of the vending machines and whined.

"He's quite fond of--Cheetos, actually," Fraser said, blushing.

Pauline just laughed. "Whatever gets the job done, I say! Buy a couple of packets and come on inside. I've got everything set up."

The empty hall had a slightly creepy feel to it, but it also ensured their cover would hold. Ray's eyes wandered to Lynn's booth, but the whole vendor area was dark and quiet.

Pauline beckoned them into the back agility ring. "Now, you run agility off-leash, so I hope you have a decent recall," she said to Fraser.

Fraser looked down at Dief, sitting nicely at his left side, and made an "iffy" motion with his hand. "He's deaf, so if he doesn't want to listen, he just turns his back on me, I'm afraid."

Pauline's brow furrowed in concern. "Deaf dogs are not allowed to run in this venue, Constable. The rules forbid it. Now, I don't care, mind you, but you'd best keep that little revelation to yourself."

"Understood. Dief is an accomplished lip reader, though, so if you could just face him and speak clearly, that will help move things along."

Pauline looked momentarily astonished, but only momentarily. "Right, then. Luckily for you, we're running three rounds of Jumpers with Weaves tomorrow, so I don't have to try and teach contacts. I only have to teach you six different kinds of jumps," she laughed, "the open and closed tunnel, and the weave poles. Quite enough, really."

"I'll do my best," Fraser said with a determined nod.

Pauline looked at Dief. "Are you ready, Diefenbaker?"

Dief gave a single eager bark.

Pauline smiled. "He really is a charming creature. Now," she said, all business, "the first obstacle is the jump." She placed a hand on an upright of something that looked a lot like a track hurdle. "This is a wingless jump, but we also have," and she backed up several steps while still looking square at Diefenbaker, "winged jumps." She touched another jump that had lattice extensions that extended outward to the left and right. "It forces the handler to work at a slight lateral distance from the dog." She walked into a gentle curve and indicated the next two jumps in the sequence. "These are double and triple bar jumps. The bars ascend like on a horse jump. They require the dog to jump long as well as high." She walked back toward them on the far end of the U and indicated the next jump, which looked like a thick hula hoop suspended in the air and mounted on a PVC frame. "This is a tire jump, pretty self-explanatory. You just jump through the round part in the middle there. And finally," she walked back to the other end of the U across the ring from them, "this is a panel jump." She touched a jump that looked like a little wall. "It presents a seemingly solid surface to the dog, so it's a bit intimidating at first. That's why I put it last." She traced the line of the jumps once more as she walked back to them. "This is a little U for you with all of the jump types in it, with the bars set lower to make it easy on him. I want you to run alongside him and get him to go over the jumps. Get out your Cheetos and lure him if you have to. All right?"

Fraser nodded. "That seems simple enough. Dief, let's go!" He ran up alongside the first jump and held his arm out. "Jump!"

Dief had not moved a muscle. He blinked at Fraser.

"Diefenbaker, come."

Dief yawned.

"Ray," Fraser turned to where he was standing at the edge of the ring, watching with crossed arms and a barely suppressed smirk, "would you mind assisting us for a moment?"

Ray groaned inwardly as he walked up to Fraser. "What do you want me to do?"

"Go over the jumps with me. Maybe he just needs a more concrete demonstration of what we're asking of him."

"Oh, geez, Fraser, you want me to be a dog? This is nuts," he grumbled. "Just imagine what the guys would say if they saw this. Seriously, the things I do for you..." But he obediently lined himself up a few feet in front of the first jump and waited for Fraser to start.

"Ray, jump!" Fraser called as he took off running, "Jump! Jump! Jump!" Ray easily hopped over each of the jumps as Fraser called them.

"Tire!" Fraser called next, and Ray hesitated. There were limits to how stupid he was willing to make himself look, and he was NOT going to dive head first through the tire jump and break his neck in the name of educating Diefenbaker. He veered around it at the last second.

Fraser seemed to understand. "And one more, jump!"

Ray hopped over the panel jump and growled to Fraser, "I want a case of Cheetos for that."

"Certainly, Ray." Fraser was smiling broadly. "Thank you. That was very much appreciated."

"Diefenbaker was definitely watching closely," Pauline said. "Try it again."

Dief was also definitely grinning. "Yeah, yeah, yuk it up," Ray muttered to Dief as he went back to the edge of the ring.

"All right, Dief," Fraser said, "No more excuses. Let's go!"

Dief did the sequence exactly as Ray had, even veering around the tire, but Fraser quickly fixed the problem, and Dief eagerly leapt back and forth through the tire for Cheetos tossed ahead of him onto the floor.

"Wonderful," said Pauline. "Very impressive. He'll make short work of the tunnels."

Ray's cell phone rang, and he stepped out of the ring. "Vecchio," he answered.

It was Frannie. "I can't believe I'm still here. I was supposed to go to a movie tonight."

"And you called me to tell me this? I just had to pretend to be a dog, so count yourself lucky and cut to the chase."

"We figured out who that guy from the parking garage tape is."

"You ID'd him? Great, who is it?"

"Lester P. Lostin. What an awful name," she groaned. "No wonder he's a criminal."

"Yeah," Ray said, pacing back and forth as he remembered, "he's working for the Dieli family now. They're into gambling and drugrunning, mostly. Lostin's a mid-career guy looking to work his way up."

"Mm-hm. As you'd expect, he's got your basic theft, racketeering and drug charges on his sheet. No violent crimes, though."

"Great, Frannie, thanks." He hung up, already working the angles. Why would the Dieli family be reduced to dognapping? Were they hoping to hold him for ransom? Lynn didn't exactly seem like she was rolling in money. It didn't make any sense. He'd hash it out with Fraser on the way back to the Consulate and see if he could come up with something.

He walked back to watch The Great White Dief conquer some more obstacles, and sure enough, Dief quickly mastered both the open and closed tunnels.

Next, Pauline walked to the far top corner of the ring, Ray, Fraser and Dief following behind her, and stopped next to a row of six PVC poles about three feet high attached to a metal base. The poles were a little less than two feet apart. It looked like a low fence made out of broom handles.

"These," she said, drawing the word out dramatically, "are the weave poles, the hardest obstacle for the dog to learn, because the required movement is something a dog would never do naturally. The dog must walk between the first two poles so the first pole is to his left, that is, parallel to his left shoulder, and then turn a bit to the right so his right shoulder is parallel to the second pole, and so on to the end, back and forth, 'weaving' in and out of the poles the way a needle goes in and out of a piece of cloth as you sew."

"My," Fraser said, staring at the poles as he absently rubbed a hand under his chin, "that does seem difficult." He walked to the end and squatted down, looking back through them, and then walked through the poles himself. Everyone, including Dief, stared intently at the poles, trying to think of a strategy.

"You could try a push-pull method where you walk on his right and say, 'Get out, come in, get out, come in,'" Pauline suggested. "It's not elegant, but it would do for our purposes."

"Perhaps," Fraser allowed, but he continued walking around the poles, staring first from one angle and then from another. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "Maybe this will work." He walked several strides away from the poles and called, "Dief, come!"

Dief came and poked Fraser's pocket with his nose. Fraser sighed and rolled his eyes and duly gave him a Cheeto.

"Dief," he said, "when we help Mr. Struthers get home from Blake's Pub, how does he walk?"

Dief staggered to his left, then back to his right, then back to his left again.

"Yes. Perfect," Fraser said, and then set himself to the right of the first weave pole, leaving room for Dief to move on his left. "Ready, Dief? Stagger!"

There was no other way to describe it: Dief looked well and truly sloshed. He wobbled first left, then right, then left and right twice more until he exited the sixth pole.

Once they managed to stop hooting with laughter, they all praised Dief to the skies and fed him giant fistfuls of Cheetos.

***

"Coffee, Ray?"

"Mmmmmph." With effort, Ray lifted his head from where it had been resting so comfortably on the steering wheel and rubbed his eyes to turn and look blearily at Fraser, who had apparently decided to go for the Clean-Scrubbed Agility Handler look today: a plain white T-shirt layered underneath a blue plaid button-down and his leather jacket, jeans and running shoes. A battered leather day pack with Dief's essentials--breakfast kibble, Cheetos, metal food and water bowls, Fraser's smallest backpacking tent, and the area rug he liked to lay on--was nestled in the footwell, completing the outfit.

"I thought you might say that," Fraser replied with a hint of a smile, pouring coffee from his thermos once more and handing it to him.

Ray took a long sip, than another. "It. Is. Too. Early," he finally managed. The sun was barely up. The sane people of this world were all at home in bed where they belonged. "What idiot is willing to show up in downtown Chicago at seven AM on a Saturday for a dog show?"

"Well, we are, apparently," said Fraser, undeterred, "and all of these other people," he added, sweeping his hand the breadth of the windshield at the nearly full Exhibitor Parking area. He glanced at his watch. "Check-in ends at seven-fifteen. We'd best get inside."

Dief, sitting in the back seat, panted and whined anxiously.

"Yeah, yeah," Ray said, sighing and contemplating his coffee. "So much for a leisurely cup of joe in the mornin'." He tipped the cup back and emptied it in four noisy gulps. "Let me just make sure I've got this straight. The plan for today is, you blend in with the dog people and make sure no one's up to anything fishy, and I spy on Lynn and try and figure out what's up with her. We meet at the vending machines every hour on the hour. Is that about the size of it?"

"That is precisely the size of it," Fraser agreed. He pulled a collar and black nylon leash out of the day pack and turned to the back seat. "Dief," he said, "Put your chin up."

Dief moaned in complaint even as he complied, and Fraser put on the collar and clipped on the leash. "Sorry, but I don't make the rules. I'm afraid it's the price you have to pay for the Cheetos and the comely females."

"Tell me about it," Ray grumbled as he swung out of the car into what passed for sunlight at this time of year.

***

Dief could hardly believe his good fortune. Yesterday, he'd had to content himself with catching stray scents that drifted out of the building, tantalizing little whiffs of dogs and people and food and a dozen other things all mixed together into a delightful perfume, but today, he was going inside as an eagerly awaited guest. He'd seen the kibble and Cheetos being packed at the kitchen counter, but that was nothing compared to what he could score off the soft-hearted dog owners. He pranced in delight and voiced his pleasure at this turn of events.

"Yes, yes," Ben said, looking down knowingly at him, "easy hunting indeed. Just don't make yourself sick like you did at the Christmas party last year."

The hall was full of noise and smells and comely females of every persuasion. Human females seemed to vastly outnumber the human males here too, and he felt Ben tensing up at the other end of the leash.

Ben first steered Dief to a "Welcome Table" that was utterly devoid of food, and thus not at all welcoming to Dief's way of thinking. Ben was given something inedible and boring-smelling that he stuck on his shirt (Ben said it was his "armband" even though it wasn't on his arm) and sent to a very specific piece of territory set aside for them in something called the Exhibitor Crating Area. Dief thought this sounded very formal and wondered if it would include a butler and a fruit basket.

"Hello, everyone," Ben said as they arrived at their territory. To Dief's disappointment, it was merely a rectangular patch of concrete marked off with tape on the floor. Humph. Leave it to humans to give something a fancy name it couldn't live up to. Maybe the butler would come along momentarily, though, because the dogs next to them had a spectacular den set up. A gleaming golden fence sectioned off a large, round yard for three cute floppy-eared brown-and-white dogs, who cavorted across a surface made of soft, fluffy pillows. A small silver water pail had been hung low on the fence so the dogs could reach up and get a drink whenever they wanted. The human belonging to these dogs had placed a mat underneath their territory and lugged a comfortable-looking cloth chair and a small table onto the mat next to the fence. A mug of steaming peppermint tea sat on the table next to a radio, and the human had a pouch at her waist with delightful-smelling goodies inside it. A large tote bag placed behind her chair promised even more delectable delights. Most impressive of all was the dogs' ability to mark their territory in a way that even the dumbest nose-dead human could understand: images of their brown-and-white heads were everywhere you turned. A life-size image adorned a sign hung over the fence ("Cav Crossing," which made no sense to Dief because there weren't any roads or rivers nearby). A brown-and-white head was also stitched into the back of the chair, embroidered prominently on the tote bag AND the treat pouch at the lady's waist (Dief thought this was a tremendously clever way of saying "Treats for us! Ours! Ours! Not yours!"), printed on the faux tile on the tabletop, and even stamped on the mug (Blech, peppermint tea--why would they want that?). Very clever, those flop-ears. They had their human trained well.

The human lady, a perky, petite woman whose short shiny hair matched the brown of her dogs, rose from her chair with a smile. "Good morning," she said, "would you like some help unloading your car?"

Ben dropped the day pack onto the concrete in the middle of their territory. "I'm sorry?"

"Your car," the lady repeated. "Or I could hold your dog for you while you bring in his ground mat and crate."

"Oh," said Ben, "thank you, but I have everything we need right here." Dief watched with interest as Ben unpacked the bag, hoping against hope that he'd somehow missed a whole raw salmon tucked inside it. No such luck. Ben quickly put up the tent, tossed his area rug inside it, and gestured inside. "Okay, Dief."

Dief made a quick inspection of the interior, deemed it satisfactory, and lay down to survey the other dogs and humans nearby. There was a large opening in the front as well as mesh windows on both sides and in the roof. He'd pass the time until breakfast studying the humans and deciding which one would crumble the fastest under the crushing weight of his charisma. He licked his lips. He could almost taste that salmon.

The lady was just standing there with her mouth open. Maybe she was trying to catch some food for her dogs, but Dief hadn't seen any flies or wasps in here. He sniffed carefully: no salmon in her pouch, but lamb would be an acceptable alternative, and she was obviously a softie.

Both Ben and Softie suddenly looked up, and Dief could feel a slight vibration in the concrete under his feet.

"An announcement," Ben said to him. "They're calling for the Novice agility handlers to report to the ring for briefing and walk-through. Stay here until I come back." He started to turn away, but Softie touched him on the shoulder and pointed back at Dief in alarm.

"Aren't you going to zip the door shut?" she asked, still looking like she'd been hit over the head.

"No," Ben said. "He hates being confined. He promised me he'd stay if I left the door open."

Softie looked back over her shoulder at him one more time as she walked off with Ben.

Dief was growing bored and considering breaking his promise by the time Ben returned. Softie was still glued to his side, talking and gesturing animatedly, spinning this way and that and moving her hands, almost dancing. Ben looked confused and pained, like a pup with its leg caught in a trap.

"I'd better attend to my dog before our run," Ben said with his polite-but-firm alpha look when Softie finally paused, "but thank you for all your advice, Cassie."

"Good luck, Ben! Just remember that blind cross at the tunnel and you'll do fine." She went back to coo over her own dogs, and Ben sagged with relief and bent to get the food and water bowls out.

Dief stood, stretched, and exited his tent with a low grumble--coming out to eat kibble was like opening the mailbox for junk mail, barely worth the effort. Still, he had to keep his strength up, so when Ben put the food bowl down, he dutifully bent his head to the bowl and kept chewing and swallowing until it was empty.

After a nice long drink of water, Dief felt a constitutional was in order, and Ben was more than happy to clip on his leash and walk him outside into the cold, crisp morning sunshine. There were still protesters, but far fewer than yesterday, and they seemed lost and deflated without their pack leader in costume to egg them on. They were just standing there silently, half-heartedly holding up their signs.

Ben waited until Dief had sniffed every bush and marked the back lawn to his heart's content to begin the conversation. "Did you see anyone who seems out of place among the exhibitors, any signs that something is amiss?"

Dief gave a flat negative and looked inquiringly into Ben's face.

"No, neither have I. I suppose we can be satisfied with that much, at least. I feel far less confident about how we'll do on the Jumpers with Weaves course."

Dief reminded him at length about his stellar performance the night before and expressed his injured feelings at Ben's lack of faith.

"It's not you I'm worried about. I must say," Ben confessed, hunching his shoulders and looking almost guilty, "that although Cassie was trying to be helpful while we walked the course, she merely succeeded in utterly confusing me. Reverse flow pivot here, blind cross there..." He sighed. "I'll do my best not to run into you or trip over you. That's all I can promise."

Dief made a reassuring noise and flashed him a devilish grin.

A woman walking by with a Shetland Sheepdog glanced at his dog and his armband. "You better get in there," she warned him. "I was the last sixteen, so they're starting the twenties now. You'll be up soon."

"Thank you." Ben glanced at the ticking thing on his arm as they turned to go back inside. "Oh, dear, look at the time," he tsk'ed, "already five past eight. Hopefully Ray hasn't given up on us."

Dief doubted very much that Ray would ever give up on them, and said as much.

***

Ray had not given up on them; he was leaning on the soda machine in the lobby looking bored. "Not much going on on my end," he yawned. "Lynn didn't even get here until about 7:30. She talked to two people with big scary-looking Rottweilers, and one lady wearing a sweatshirt with a poodle on it came by and picked up a jump. No sign of Lester P. Lostin."

"That really is an unfortunate name," Fraser murmured. "Dief and I also have very little to report. We haven't seen any odd behavior--well, I can say that we haven't seen any suspicious behavior, and we do not believe anyone we have observed this morning is planning a repeat of yesterday's events. I hate to rush off, but we're due in the ring shortly." He turned to open the doors into the hall.

"Cool, I'll come watch. Break a leg--oh, wait, I guess I shouldn't say that for something involving running and jumping, huh? Good luck." Ray held the door open and motioned them through.

"Diefenbaker!" A woman standing with a clipboard next to the ring was calling and looking around, her free hand cupped around her mouth. "Diefenbaker the Siberian!"

Fraser and Dief ran up to the woman while Ray found a place to stand and watch. "This is Diefenbaker. Is it our turn already?" Ben asked.

"You're in the hole. You need to get lined up."

Fraser looked down in confusion. The ground seemed perfectly level. "Excuse me?"

"You're in the hole," the woman repeated, glancing down at her clipboard. "Jazz is on the line, Kira's on deck," she motioned at a black-and-white border collie running through some tricks with a girl who looked about twelve, "and you're after Kira, you're in the hole."

"Oh, yes, all right. Thank you."

"No treats or toys in the ring, and only flat collars are allowed, no tags. Or you can run naked if you like."

"Pardon me?" Fraser's face went beet red.

"The DOG," said the gate steward, rolling her eyes in exasperation, "the dog can run naked. That means without a collar." She softened a little. "Is this your first trial?"

Fraser nodded.

"Ah, well, then just relax and do your best. And if you can't run clean, at least run happy, as my trainer always used to say."

"Thank you."

The dog named Jazz finished his run, and Kira and the little girl stepped up to the start line. Kira sat, vibrating with eager anticipation, and the girl removed her leash and tossed it to the exit. "Kira, STAY," she said firmly, all alpha, and walked halfway across the ring to stand next to the chute, which had a cone labeled "4" next to it. Kira was a wire about to snap.

"Wow, a four jump lead-out," breathed the gate steward. "Wish I could do that."

"Okay!" the girl called, and Kira was up and through the tire in the time it took Fraser to blink. She catapulted over the next two jumps and into the chute. The girl spun and broke left, called Kira over two more jumps, then deftly crossed in front to slow her down for the weaves. Kira darted in and out, in and out, tail fanning out behind her like a pirate flag, and then she was through and into the pinwheel, the girl working the efficient inside line. The girl did a perfect blind cross at the tunnel to get on the dog's right for the triple and the last two jumps, and then they were over the finish line.

"Good GIRL, Kira!" the girl shrieked in delight, "that was awesome! What a GOOD GIRL!!" Kira leaped into the air once, twice, three times, her tail wagging furiously, and the impressed onlookers applauded. The grinning girl put Kira's leash back on and hustled the dog out of the ring, telling her excitedly about the T-U-G T-O-Y and the F-I-S-H she was going to get as a reward.

"Tough act to follow," said the gate steward sympathetically, "but you're up. Go get 'em."

Fraser walked Dief into the ring, had him sit, and took off his leash, tossing it to the exit gate as the girl had. He glanced out to the right, and Ray gave him two thumbs up. Fraser walked up next to the tire, with the orange "1" cone next to it to helpfully remind the handler where to start, held his arm out toward it, and took a deep breath.

"Dief, tire!" Fraser called.

Dief did not move. He didn't even blink.

"Dief!"

Nothing.

"Dief?"

Dief whined, low and mournful.

"Stage fright? No, no, no, this is totally different," he protested, walking back toward Dief. "Hardly anyone here is..." he looked around and saw several dozen pairs of eyes looking back. "Well, not too many people are paying attention." He turned to the crowd. "Would you mind looking away for a moment? It seems he's feeling a bit self-conscious. Thank you kindly."

The crowd good-naturedly humored them, but the timer, scribe, and judge could not, of course.

"Here, Dief," Fraser offered, "I'll even turn my back. The numbers are right there next to the obstacles, so you don't need me. Just do them all in order and I will feed you Cheetos until you burst."

He turned his back and waited, and to his amazement, he heard Dief get up, walk up to the tire, and jump through it. The timer's stopwatch beeped, and Dief was running agility! There were two jumps next, and then the chute. He waited, and soon he heard the slithering sound of the chute fabric as Dief went though it. A few more seconds passed (Kira had already finished the course by now), and then he heard the judge trying to stifle her laughter and failing. A few people turned around to see Dief staggering drunkenly through the weaves. They laughed and cheered him on, and suddenly Dief began to pick up speed. He carefully looked at the cones next to the jumps in the pinwheel, did them all in the correct order, and raced into the tunnel. Practically everyone had turned to watch Dief by this point, and they were gasping in amazement and whooping and clapping. Dief turned and took the triple and the last two jumps to great cries of "Dieeeeeeeeef!!", and then he was over the finish line and poking his nose into Fraser's palm.

The cheering and applause were thunderous. The judge strode up to Fraser and sputtered, "That was--that was just, really, the most amazing--how did you DO that?"

Fraser reached down to pet Diefenbaker, who was looking supremely pleased with himself and reveling in the attention, and said simply, "My grandparents were librarians. Never underestimate the importance of early reading skills."

***

"Wow, that was something!" Ray said with a laugh as he came up to them. "You two should take that act on the road. And Dief," he reached down and ruffled the soft fur around his neck, "you are one smart cookie." Dief made a pleased noise and licked Ray's hand.

Fraser looked toward the vendor area. "Perhaps we shouldn't have left Lynn unattended. It looks like she has some customers. Let's go see what she's up to, shall we?"

"Sure thing," said Ray.

Diefenbaker whined.

"No," said Fraser. "The whole idea behind eavesdropping on someone is not to let them know you're there, in case you've forgotten. Althea is a lovely girl, but you'll just have to restrain yourself."

Dief subsided with a grumble, and the three of them worked their way to a spot behind Lynn's booth that was still close enough to see the faces of the people sitting across from Lynn at the customers' table and hear their conversation.

Lynn was flipping through a binder with a woman with two Schipperkes on leashes lying calmly next to her chair. They were discussing various jump options and pricing, and Lynn was pointing at pictures of various things in the binder.

"Good dogs," Ray noted.

They watched as the Schipperke woman arrived at a decision, and Lynn nodded and pulled out an order book. The customer pulled out her checkbook and wrote a check, and the transaction was concluded with much smiling and gushing over the woman's dogs, who were sent off with several cookies apiece.

Lynn looked up at a man who had been hovering nearby while she'd been talking to the Schipperke owner. He had brown hair and dark eyes, the beginnings of a double chin, and wore a navy wool coat and brown leather loafers with tassels.

"Hi," she said, "thanks for waiting." She gestured at the chair. "Please, have a seat. So, what kind of dog do you have?"

The man sat down and started flipping through the pages of the binder, but he barely even glanced at the contents. "Actually," he said, speaking slowly and clearly, looking Lynn straight in the eye, "I have three dogs. Their names are Vancouver, Montreal, and Halifax."

Lynn stiffened. "You're early."

The man shook his head and smiled, and his voice was velvety, but his eyes glittered. "I'm right on schedule, honey. Now don't jerk me around again. We were supposed to do this yesterday."

"All right, all right," Lynn said. "It's right over here. As for payment--"

"I got your payment right here," the man said, slapping the side of his jacket.

"Something's not right here," Fraser whispered.

"Definitely bad mojo," Ray agreed. "Is he packing? He wouldn't actually shoot her in front of all these people, would he?" Ray was growing more alarmed by the second. "Hey, wait a minute, wait a minute..." he stared intently at the man.

"Let's see it," said Lynn.

The man laughed softly and reached into his pocket, then tossed Lynn a small cylindrical bundle secured with rubber bands.

"There's thousands of dollars there," murmured Fraser.

Lynn quickly pocketed it, walked over and hefted one of the jumps, and nodded. "Thank you for your purchase, and feel free to call with any special orders you might have in the future."

"I know that guy!" Ray said, keeping his voice down with an effort. "That's, uh," he shook his hands back and forth and pressed his lips together, as if it would force the name to emerge, "Norwell. Jack Norwell. He works for the Dieli family."

"Thank you," Norwell said, hefting the jump across his left shoulder and striding briskly away.

Fraser's head swiveled right to look square at Ray. "Lester P. Lostin works for the Dieli family."

Ray met Fraser's eyes. "I think we can assume the Dielis aren't starting an agility club."

"I think you're right, Ray. Those jumps are made of PVC, and PVC is hollow."

Ray's eyes widened in surprise. "Smuggling," he said numbly. "Lynn Messner is a drug smuggler." He looked down at the ground, shaking his head in disbelief, then back up and over at the receding figure of Jack Norwell. "What about Norwell? Shouldn't we go grab him? He could have a couple kilos in there!" He started to move, but Fraser put a palm against his chest.

"Call it in, but be quick about it," Fraser said. "I think Lynn's life is still very much in danger."

Ray opened his mouth to ask for an explanation, but closed it again and pulled out his phone instead. He called in and requested backup to the area, described Norwell and what he was wearing, and most importantly, described the jump as well as he could.

"Now," he said as he hung up, "let's go get a confession." He worked his way into the back of her booth, sat down on the stool next to her table saw, and called out affably, "Lynn! Hey there."

Lynn visibly flinched as she saw him and tried to cover it with a smile. "Officer Kowalski, you startled me! Hey, good to see you! Have you had any more trouble with those protesters?" She walked back to stand next to him.

Fraser and Dief walked over to stand next to Ray, and Lynn's smile grew even thinner, even more pasted on. "You, too? What's going on here?"

"I'm sorry about this, Ms. Messner," Fraser said, and he actually sounded like he meant it. He bent down and unclipped Dief's leash. "Search," he commanded, and Dief immediately started sniffing around Lynn's booth, starting with the area where the finished jumps stood.

Lynn looked at him quizzically. "Dief, are you looking for cookies? I've got some yummy liver--"

"Look, we know everything," Ray said. "We know you're working for the Dielis, smuggling drugs for them. Fraser seems to think your life is in danger--"

Lynn looked up, her face rapidly flushing in anger. "What the hell are you talking about? Who are the Dielis? Is this what cops do when they get bored--make stuff up and harass people?"

"She's not working for the Dielis, Ray," Fraser said. "Although she doesn't know it, I suspect she is, in fact, working for the Robson crime syndicate, one of Canada's most notorious organized crime families. Their centers of power are in Vancouver, Montreal, and Halifax," he pronounced the names distinctly, "where they are a major force in maritime shipping, both legal and not-so-legal."

Dief came back to stand directly in front of Fraser, looking at him silently and wagging his tail.

"You're also not smuggling drugs, Ms. Messner--"

"She's not?" Ray said in amazement.

"No, she's not. Dief didn't detect anything just now, nor did he react yesterday, and the quantities we were discussing most certainly would have triggered a hit."

"You didn't have a warrant for that," Lynn snapped, all pretense of friendliness gone, "and you're not allowed to just eavesdrop on people without one either. I don't have to stand here and listen to this. I'm leaving."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Your life is in danger, and I'd like to help you, if I may."

"Would you cut it out with the dire warnings already? You're just trying to scare me into confessing to whatever it is you want to pin on me."

Ray snapped his fingers. "The way Norwell paid her, with the tightly rolled-up money--she's laundering money in those jumps!"

The blood drained from Lynn's face; he'd clearly struck a nerve. "So what if I am?" she said defiantly. "So I'm moving some cash around, big deal. Why is this going to get me killed?"

"Because any minute now," Fraser said, "a Canadian is going to come by looking for his jump full of money, and you no longer have it."

"Of course I no longer have it, because _hello_, I just gave it to the Canadian!" she insisted.

But Fraser was resolutely shaking his head. "He said 'schedule' and 'again' with American pronunciation. His name is Jack Norwell, and he's an American working for the Dielis, a well-known crime family from right here in Chicago."

"Hello?" a man's voice called from the front. "Anybody home?"

Ray hit the floor and called, "Uh, just a minute! Be right there!"

Fraser pulled Lynn down and whispered urgently into her ear. "There's your Canadian. Crawl out this way, out the back. Don't let him see you. We'll deal with this."

She turned her head and stared at him, then wordlessly nodded and began inching to safety.

"Hey, good morning," Ray said, coming up to the front. "Sorry about that. Dropped a pair of pliers and couldn't find 'em again."

"Here they are!" said Fraser dorkishly, popping up with the pliers in his hand and coming forward.

The man, a well-built taller man with reddish-brown hair and a mustache, looked irritated. "Where's Lynn? Who the hell are you?"

"She'll be back in a sec, she's in the ladies' room," Ray explained. "The coffee just goes right through her, you know how women are." He stuck out a hand. "I'm Jake, Lynn's boyfriend. Good to meet you."

The man left Ray's hand hanging. "And you are?" he said to Fraser.

"Well, I first came to Chicago on the trail of--"

A muffled cry, quickly cut off, made them all turn to look, and another man came into view around the side of the booth with a terrified-looking Lynn, who clearly had a weapon of some kind dug into her back. Ray and Fraser turned back to see that the auburn-haired man now had a very lethal-looking switchblade at the ready. They were joined by a third man who came around the far side of the booth, no doubt armed as well.

The man holding Lynn, the apparent ringleader, was very matter-of-fact: "Either of you cry for help or create a commotion, or move a muscle, and you kill her. She dies." Lynn's breathing was harsh and ragged, and her eyes looked almost glazed with panic. He jerked his head at his two accomplices. "Out the front. Go."

The three of them began moving toward the front of the hall. Fraser and Ray stayed still, helplessly watching as Lynn was maneuvered away from them, ten, twenty, thirty feet...

"I could pull my gun," Ray murmured once he thought they were out of earshot, careful to remain still.

Fraser risked a miniscule head shake. "I'm pretty sure he's holding a gun on her. You'd never get the shot off before he killed her."

"He'll kill her if he gets her outside and sees the squad cars they're sending over to pick up Jack Norwell," Ray groaned. "This sucks."

"Agreed. Is there something we can do that will yield a happier outcome?"

Ray racked his brain. "Where's Dief?"

***

Dief had managed to sneak away and was now keeping tabs on the situation from the fourth row of the grandstand. Lynn would walk directly past him on her way out the front doors. She was still a good distance away, but he could smell her abject terror, and he knew that the man next to her was the cause of it.

He thought of the comely Althea, safely forgotten about in her crate, and knew that he had to do something. He couldn't let her pack leader go down without a fight. The mere notion of losing Ben, of ever having to make his home with another pack somewhere, was excruciating. He couldn't let that happen to Althea; he couldn't just let Lynn be marched past him and sit idly by.

He watched intently as she drew ever closer. Evil Alpha had a gun stuck in Lynn's back. The telltale scents of oil and metal gave it away. He also had two packmates in close proximity, while Dief's own packmates might as well be in Inuvik, but there was nothing to be done for it. This was his chance, and he was going to take it.

He tensed his muscles and planned his angle of attack. Wait...wait...now!

Baring his teeth and issuing an enraged snarl that came from deep within him, Dief launched himself at Evil Alpha's face. Evil Alpha reacted just as Dief knew he would, reflexively throwing his hands up to protect himself from fifty pounds of furious teeth and claws hurtling at him out of nowhere. There was no time for him to try and sidestep or duck, or to aim his gun. He looked startled and scared, and this pleased Dief immensely. His mass crashed squarely into the man's torso, every bit of momentum going to good use, and Evil Alpha toppled back and slammed into the ground hard.

Even as he felt the man's body hit, he was already springing off and leaping at Mustache Guy, who was only barely starting to react to the situation. Human reflexes were pretty slow when push came to shove.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lynn twist away and begin an adrenaline-fueled sprint into the center of the building, already gathering to jump right over the ring gating and into the obedience ring in her path.

Mustache Guy brandished something shiny and dangerous in his right hand, so Dief clamped his teeth on his right forearm. Again, predictably, as Dief knew he would, Mustache Guy screamed and dropped the knife. Dief heard a note of pure terror in the man's scream and felt grim satisfaction wash over him. He bore down harder and heard the note again, even louder this time.

But surprisingly, it was the third man, the one Dief never had a chance to attack, who made the mistake that sealed his pack's doom. After watching his pack leader brutally taken down and losing the coveted prey, and appropriately cowed by Dief's ferocity and his other packmate's screams, he had decided the hunt was simply not worth it. He turned and ran pell-mell for the front door, an all-purpose foghorn yell issuing from his throat, and he paid not the slightest attention to the dogs in the two conformation rings no more than ten feet away.

Big mistake. The first ring was full of Border Collies. The rapid motion and noise fired up every "the sheep are trying to make a break for it!" instinct the Border Collies had, and they sailed over the three-foot ring gating and split up into groups, some harrying, barking at, and heading the third man, herding him back toward the rest of his battered pack, while others looped back to gather Mustache Guy and Evil Alpha.

The second ring held no fewer than a dozen German Shepherds, some of whom had protection and Schutzhund training. The German Shepherds, although slightly slower off the mark, more than made up for it with their sheer bulk and determination. Some of them just plowed through the gating rather than jumping over it. Two of them almost idly put Mustache Guy on the floor and made spine-tingling growls every time he twitched. Three more sat on Evil Alpha's chest to prevent him from getting up and bared their enormous white teeth just inches from his jugular. The third man, more or less unhurt and lucky to be so, was content to stand utterly still with his hands pressed to the sides of his face and whimper.

The whole thing had taken less than fifteen seconds from start to finish. Dief surveyed the scene with pride--and fervently hoped Althea had managed to see at least a little of his heroism from her crate.

***

Dief was the toast of the town at the 2-7. Ray told everyone in awed tones what Dief had done, how amazing it had been, right down to every flash of teeth and bad guy's scream. "They should make a movie out of it," Ray suggested. Dief thought that was a fine idea, but only if he got to play himself.

Happily, Ray was also back on Lieutenant Welsh's good side for busting up not one, but two major money laundering operations. Jack Norwell and Lester P. Lostin were both in custody and eager to cooperate as part of a plea deal, and two of the three Canadians captured were on Canada's Most Wanted list. This mollified Inspector Thatcher and earned Fraser yet another letter of commendation.

Lynn, who was shaken but not hurt in the attack, was able to cut a deal in exchange for providing information about her methods and the people she'd had contact with. She eagerly complied and was given probation.

But best of all, Diefenbaker finally got to spend some time with Althea, although he never returned to the agility ring. The two of them romped and tussled and thoroughly enjoyed themselves on what became a series of regular playdates.

Sometimes, going to the dogs was the very best thing that could happen to you.

THE END


End file.
